


Freckled Charming and Loser Rider

by MonoclePony



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Connie is the best/worst Peter Pan ever, Disney World & Disneyland, Fluff, Humour, I try to make funnies, Jean being a dweeb (what's new), Jean is Flynn and an awkward lil shit, Levi is the BEST Mickey Mouse ever don't lie, M/M, Marco is a literal Prince Charming, Ymir is Goofy and loves it, disneyland au, failed attempts at flirting, yes this has the golden 'homo' pixie dust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-02-12 12:04:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2109246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonoclePony/pseuds/MonoclePony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This started off as a silly little oneshot on my Tumblr to mark the gaining of so many followers, and then I just...kept...on...writing it... so I got convinced to make a little minific out of it. So here, a Disneyland au for everyone! </p><p>Jean loves his job. He gets to strut around in a costume, flirting with pretty girls and signing autographs- it's a job made in heaven. Flynn Rider, after all, is the suavest Disney prince out there. Unfortunately, Jean does not live up to his character very often: especially when the new Prince Charming turns up and knocks him for six. </p><p>(Un)fortunately for Jean, his friends are hell-bent on getting him laid- or at least getting Freckled Charming's number. But whether or not Jean takes advantage of the gleaming opportunities handed to him remains to be seen. <br/>Prepare for lots of secondhand embarrassment, clueless Marco and self-deprecating Jean. Oh, and Connie and Ymir, matchmaker extraordinaires.</p><p>Not sure how long this will end up being, but I say minific sooo...</p><p>Originally posted on my tumblr here: http://attackonmyponderland.tumblr.com/</p><p>*Rating may change depending on the turn this lil thing takes*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

Jean knew he was screwed the moment Samuel got fired.

Nobody knew _why_ exactly the Prince Charming of 3 wholesome years was given the boot out the back door, but the sight of him being shouted at by a very angry Levi half-dressed in a Mickey Mouse costume was embarrassing enough for them to avert their eyes and hope the whole thing just disappeared. Samuel vanished, as did the Prince Charming. That meant problems. The park wasn’t ever void of visitors, after all, and people (and most often whiny, noisy brats- Levi’s words) were starting to notice his absence.

“How are they gonna replace him at such short notice?” Jean found himself asking one break. His coffee breaks managed to miraculously coincide with his ‘co-actor’ (he called her ‘partner’ once and he’d regretted it) Christa’s, and she was perched on the small sofa sipping her drink as carefully as she could so as not to get a splash of it on her lilac dress. She was the Rapunzel to his Flynn Rider, and Jean would have been lying if he said he didn’t enjoy that. It was worth the tiring hours of standing around, balancing on parade floats trying desperately not to fall off, and the horse.

Jean didn’t even want to _start_ on the horse.

Christa gave a small shrug. “I don’t know, but I hope they get it sorted soon. It would be such a disappointment to the children if there wasn’t a Prince Charming before the summer holidays break out.”

Jean graced her with a trademark Flynn Rider grin. He’d been perfecting it. “Always thinking about the kids, eh?”

“Well, that and the fact that if they can’t find someone we might get extra hours.”

Jean deflated. Oh. He hadn’t thought of that. And he _had_ wanted a life this summer… if only for a day or two. “I guess they better hurry up and find someone or else we’ll all be in the shit,” he said.

Christa’s nose wrinkled. “Jeeeeean.”

“I know, I know, language, it’s not as if the tykes can hear way back here,” he said, dumping his cup in the sink and moving to lean against the wall.

“BUT I CAN.”

“Wah, shit!” Jean yelped, leaping away from the wall as a long furry snout poked its way around the corner at breakneck speed. He was still twitching when a guttural laugh came from whoever was wearing the Goofy suit, and he gave them a glare. “Do you live to scare me like that, Ymir?”

“Yup!” ‘Goofy’ removed his head to reveal a broadly grinning brunette with freckles dotted across her cheeks. They usually kept to the genders when it came to casting costumed characters, but there had been a considerably small amount of tall men auditioning the year Ymir did, and even though Bertholdt had tried to play Goofy for a few shifts (resulting in more carnage than anyone had ever thought possible thanks to the inexplicable clumsiness of the guy) Ymir won the role. She pretended to hate it, but everyone knew how much she beamed after a Meet and Greet shift.

Jean gave her a wide berth as she sauntered into the break room, making a mental note that he would never get over Goofy swinging his hips like Jessica Rabbit _ever_. Actually, he thought as she proceeded to throw herself onto the sofa and plant an extremely soppy and over-the-top kiss on Christa’s lips, he would never get over seeing Goofy kissing Rapunzel. That was definitely weirder. Jeez, the things he saw in this job. “What’samatter Flynny Winny, did someone not get laid last weekend?” Ymir asked, planting a few more kisses on Christa’s cheeks whilst her girlfriend complained about her makeup coming off.

Jean’s look soured. “If you must know, I had a date,” he sniffed, folding his arms.

“But did you get laid?”

“We had a nice dinner.”

“Did you get laid though?”

“We had a lot in common and I think we really hit it off.”

“Ugh, you so didn’t get laid. You are an insult to your character and should be ashamed.”

“What, and Goofy gets laid all the time, does he?”

Ymir grinned. “Well, this Goofy does. And she loooves it.” She winked. “Hyyyyyuck.”

“Oh my God, shut up.” Jean clapped his hands to his ears. He really did not want to know the ins and outs of Ymir and Christa’s sex lives, _especially_ not when visualising Ymir as Goofy. No. No. Definitely not. “But… no, we didn’t. She was nice, though.”

“She?” Ymir raised a brow. “It was a she?”

Jean rolled his eyes. _Oh God, not this again._ He had once let slip that he was little further right on the Kinsey scale than everyone assumed and ever since Ymir wouldn’t rest until she found him a good man to settle down with. It wasn’t like he was ungrateful with her efforts, but telling people you worked at DisneyWorld driving kids out of their tiny little minds with excitement (and possibly giving tweens their sexual awakening with his smoulders) only seemed cute and adorable to girls. Guys tended to just give him the, ‘what are you doing with your life’ look and move right along. But, however shockingly, Jean actually liked his job. Sure, he complained about it, but everyone complains about their jobs. He loved it. And if someone couldn’t love it right on back, then they had a problem, in Jean’s opinion. Still, Ymir’s persistence to find him a man who didn’t care was proving not only fruitless but also endlessly annoying. “Yes, a she. Problem?” he asked, raising a brow. He was pretty sure he was perfecting the ‘Flynn is tired of your shit’ look too.

“No…” Ymir shared a look with Christa, and grinned. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Ymir, I’m sure.”

“Did you see up her skirt though?”

“Wha-NO!”

Ymir snorted. “Calm your tits, dude, seriously. I’m just messing with you.” Her hand had wandered as she spoke, and it was now playing with the extensions Christa had to pin to her normal hair. She was blessed with the perfect colour hair to play Rapunzel, and Ymir constantly mentioned how soft it was. Jean hadn’t had the pleasure of running his hands through her hair, mainly because he would get promises of murder from a Goofy whenever he attempted it. “Just wanna see my Jeanny boy be happy.”

“Bullshit, you just want me paired off with someone so I’ll stop flirting with Christa,” Jean snorted.

Ymir’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You play a dangerous game, Kirschtein.”

“It’s in character, Ymir,” Christa sighed. “It is literally in Jean’s job description to flirt with me.”

“Well, can’t _Tangled_ have an alternate ending every now and again?”

“Goofy is not going to run off with Rapunzel, Ymir!” Jean said.

“Again,” Christa added with a small giggle.

Jean rolled his eyes. “Yes. _Again._ Seriously, that was fucking awkward. The kids were pointing.”

“You kissed her,” Ymir pointed out.

“IT WAS IN THE SCRIPT, OH MY GOD.”

“Kirschtein! Reiss!” Another character head popped through the door, and this time the trio froze up. To anyone on the outside, it was probably hilarious to see just how pale Jean got when faced with the cheerful face of Mickey Mouse, but Jean knew the truth. He knew who was hiding under the costume. And that terrified the shit out of him.

“L-Levi, we were just…”

“You were just nothing you shitty little brats, the parade’s starting soon. You and Reiss need to get over to the assembly point right now, and Flash is there waiting.”

Jean grimaced. Ugh. _Flash._ “Can’t we do one parade without that damn horse?” he asked.

“No,” came Levi’s harsh reply. It was sort of surreal to hear such a harsh voice come out of such a jovial character. “And you, Ymir, get out there and hug the kids or some shit like that, you overgrown weasel.”

“Well, technically…” Ymir began, but blanched as soon as ‘Mickey’ turned on her.

“Technically what?” he snapped. “Please, do enlighten me on your pearls of wisdom.”

“Well… Goofy’s a dog. Not a weasel.”

“Aaaand this is our cue to go,” Jean said, making a beeline for the door and beckoning for Christa to do the same. She was all too happy, patting her girlfriend sympathetically on the shoulder as she darted to Jean’s side, and then they were gone, out of sight before Levi could blow a blood vessel and deafen them with both volume and obscenity.

The good news about the parade was that Flash only bit Jean once. The bad news was that the audience had thought it was staged and now Levi wanted it to be a regular part of the parade. _Great_ , Jean winced as he stood at his meeting point rubbing his stinging shoulder, _the first hickey I’ve got in months and it was given to me by a fucking horse. Jaeger better not get wind of this._ It was going to bruise. He knew it would. That was just his luck.

“Heeeyy looks like we have ourselves here a naughty ol’ pirate!”

Jean blinked, turning to see none other than Connie fucking Springer skipping down the path. He grinned. He thought things were too quiet around here. “Nice tights Thumbelina,” he remarked.

“I am no Lina of Thumb! I am Peter Pan!” Connie huffed.

“Gesundheit. How are things in Neverland?” he asked, folding his arms.

“Same old, same old. Tink’s being a grouch again.” _Ah, Annie. If anyone could portray Tinkerbell’s downright snooty side it would be you._ Connie edged closer, his hat almost falling off as he muttered, “You heard about Samuel?”

Jean became more alert, leaning in to whisper his answer. “Yeah, sucks for him, huh? Heard anything about a replacement?”

“They got one. Short notice, but Reiner knew a guy.”

“Reiner?” Jean raised an eyebrow. “He’s been out of Bertholdt’s ass long enough to know someone else?”

Connie gave him a sour look. “Don’t be mean,” he chided, “Reiner seems to think that this guy’s perfect for it. And he was quite nice when I saw him. A bit on the nervous, naïve side but he was nice. Suits Prince Charming down to the ground.” Jean was then assaulted with gold dust that made him sneeze. ‘Pixie dust’. It had been Connie’s idea, and the park had just run with it. Connie was… quite the method actor when it came down to it. He loved throwing it at people at random intervals; Reiner and Bertholdt were his usual victims, mainly because Bertholdt sneezed so badly he’d fall over and Reiner’s costume was too heavy for him to run effectively in it. Reiner had caught Connie once, though, and the sight of Peter Pan begging for mercy from Buzz Lightyear whilst Woody tried to overcome his allergies was quite something to behold.

“You’ve seen the new guy?” Jean found himself slipping between keeping character and breaking out and just outright grabbing Connie and shaking him for the information. “How come I haven’t seen him around?”

“He came in when you were parading around like a show-pony dude, chill out,” Connie complained. “He’s probably meeting some kids or something, like you’re meant to be doing.” He then stepped back, out of the safe zone and right back into character. “Captain Hook, you say? Around here? Why, that smelly old codfish can’t have gone far! I’ll teach him a lesson!” And off he ran, chortling away like a gleeful little pixie.

Jean watched him go with a wistful sigh. He wondered who this new guy was going to be like. If he was a friend of Reiner’s, then ‘grossly inappropriate’ could be pinned down. Perhaps ‘devilishly handsome’- Reiner was nice but he was a shallow soul and liked to hang around with equally buff or gorgeous people. Gay? Jean inwardly smacked himself- if that was even possible- for such a horrible assumption. _Reiner can have straight friends, Jean, for God’s sake. It’s **unlikely** , but…_

“Can I have your autograph?”

“Huh?” Jean was snapped out of his thoughts by a beaming nine year old waving a pen in his face. “Oh, sure little princess, what’s your name?”

Cue a giggle fit. Oy.

He was in the middle of signing her book when he heard a so-high-it-should-be-illegal squeal come from the line forming in front of him. He tried not to wince. He failed. But he put on his best grin and looked up. “Hey, what’s the pro-”

_Oh._

_OH._

_Oh, fuck._

He usually shared his space with the ‘Cinderella’ and ‘Prince Charming’ of the park, but since Samuel being let go they had placed ‘Cinderella’ somewhere else. That meant Jean had had the place to himself. But now, she was back, and by her side was…

Well, he didn’t know who he was but damnit was he hot.

He was taller than him, Jean mused, but not as tall as Samuel had been. He was smiling charmingly ( _heh, puns,_ Jean’s brain offered) at everyone who caught his eye, but there was no shallowness to it; he looked as though he was genuinely happy to be there, and personally thanking everyone for coming to see him. His hair was dark and swept back in the typical princely fashion, but a whorl at the back remained stuck up stubbornly in its own act of defiance. In fact, he looked so much like the _actual_ Prince Charming it was sort of scary. He held himself in the same way, moved like he did, smiled like he did. Jean suddenly found himself wondering whether or not he had actually just stepped out of a storybook to be there. He noticed the slight freckles on the guy’s cheeks and realised they had tried to cover them up with makeup, and cursed whoever had hidden such fucking adorable little dots from sight. _Who cares if Prince Charming didn’t have freckles, hell, I bet he did in one of the stories_.

Petra, their ‘Cinderella’, only came up to his shoulder, but the way they laughed and clasped hands gave them more chemistry than she had ever had with Samuel. The smiles they were giving each other Made Jean’s heart thunder in his chest. _If only Freckled Charming would look at me like that,_ he found himself thinking. His eyes widened at his own daring, and a pair of dark eyes met his own.

Only _then_ did he realise he was staring.

“Hi, Flynn!” Petra waved, beaming from ear to ear in her blue gown. “Have you met my husband, Prince Charming?”

Jean just gawped at him. He was cute, so damn cute, and his smile was faltering and he was frowning and _why was he frowning?_

He was staring.

“Uh…” was all that came out of his mouth dumbly. A few children tittered.

“Flynn?” Petra prompted, a frown appearing on her own face.

Jean cleared his throat and straightened up. Petra was still staring at him as though he was an idiot, her eyes urging him to talk before he officially drifted into the realm of the _utter imbecile._ He was suddenly struck with an idea. He let a dry smirk wind its way onto his face. He sauntered forward, brows practically wiggling. _Had to stay in character. Right. He could do this. He was suave, cool, he made girls giggle for crying out loud._ He stopped before the two of them and bowed, eyes catching Freckled Charming’s and only his, and when he straightened up he took in a deep breath. His eyes softened.

“I know not who you are, nor how I came to find you, but may I just say…” He tried out his smoulder. “Hi.”

Freckled Charming blinked once. Twice. “Er…hi?” he said, a little lost. He didn’t look flustered, or impressed, or head over heels. He just looked confused. “S-sorry, are you, uh, referencing something?”

Jean could have died. He wanted to curl up and die, right there and then, with all the freckled angels to guide his stupid fucking ass to heaven. Instead, all he did was go bright red and fold his arms, muttering out a short, “Name’s Flynn Rider,” like he wanted the ground to swallow him up. Freckled Charming didn’t know _Tangled_ back to front. Of course. Only losers like Jean did.

Freckled Charming blinked at him, and then smiled. “Nice to meet you, Flynn.”

Oh. _Oh._ Jean felt like he’d been punched in the chest. Bit of a cliché reaction, he thought to himself, but the body never lies. Freckled Charming was cute as fuck, after all. He rubbed the back of his neck with a weak grin, glancing over at his assembled fan club for a moment. “Th-thanks. Th-think I tried to steal something from your palace once, heh.” _Or some shit like that, c’mon man stick to the script._ “I could… er… if you’re not busy you and Cinders could come to mine and Rapunzel’s place and…er… watch the lanterns?” _You’re losing it Jean, come on, focus._

Petra raised a brow at Jean, clearly thinking that he had well and truly lost it, but Freckled Charming laughed. He had a nice laugh.  Jean’s confidence went on the rise. “That sounds fun. We should do that sometime.”

“Prince! Prince! Cinderelly!”

Jean stopped himself from gritting his teeth. Stupid kids ruining his groove. Freckled Charming immediately brought his attention to the children clamouring for his autograph or picture, and the large smile was back. “Hello there, royal subjects! And how are you on this fine, sunny day?” he asked. And then they were swarming him, giving him hugs and talking to him and getting him to sign things. Petra was beaming at him, impressed, and sidled a little closer to where Jean was stood, shamefully staring once again. “His name is Marco,” she whispered around the back of her hand. “He’s good, huh?”

“You can say that again,” Jean said faintly. Petra merely snickered and returned to the little girls with stars in their eyes, leaving Jean on the outskirts, staring at Freckled Charming and rolling the name ‘Marco’ around his mouth. _Marco. Marco, Marco, Marco. Suits him._ He let out a loud sigh like he was in a shitty romcom, watching the way Marco laughed and made all of his tiny fans giggle and blush at his sweetness, and didn’t hear the running footsteps until it was too late.

Suddenly, all he could see was gold.

He sneezed loudly, causing Marco’s head to jerk around to him with alarm, and shot the perpetrator a vicious glare. The kids were laughing and pointing as Connie sat cross legged on the railing next to him, and Jean pursed his lips at him. “What the heck was that for, _Peter_?!” he snapped.

Connie was grinning smugly. “Sooo Marco’s kinda nice, huh?” he said in a lowered voice. At least he knew how to be subtle.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jean brushed the pixie dust off his shoulders and fixed Connie with a scowl. “If Annie sees you’re out of your area again you’ll get in trouble.”

“I saw the way you were gazing at him with those big gold eyes.”

“Connie, I you don’t leave right now I swear to God-”

“He has his breaks at 11 and 2 and he likes caramel lattes. You’re welcome.” Connie sprinkled more gold dust over Jean’s head. “Let the homo dust guide you.”

“Why you little-”

The kids cheered as Connie took off with a chortle with Jean hot on his heels, many chanting, “Get ‘im Flynn, get ‘im!” whilst Marco and Petra looked on with slightly amused smiles.

 _Yeah,_ Jean thought as he nearly tripped over Marco’s feet in his desire to grab Connie’s neck and throttle him, _I am definitely, irrevocably screwed._


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being Jean is a struggle.   
> We also see Buzz Lightyear!Reiner, with a story that is so true it's not even funny. I pretty much reacted like Jean when I heard it...

A few days after Freckled Charming’s sudden appearance, Jean was starting to despair of life. Ymir now knew about his not so subtle crush on the new guy, courtesy of a certain Connie fucking Springer, and Jean wanted to shrivel up like a wallflower and die somewhere in a corner where no one could poke and laugh at him. _No such luck_ , his internal voice sneered. Everyone knew that Connie had the largest mouth known to mankind, and it was a miracle that the news hadn’t spread to everyone already, especially Freckles. Ymir, however, was probably the worst person Connie could have told. Now she was laying her matchmaking skills on thicker than he’d ever expected from her.

“You know, Prince Charming barely even speaks in _Cinderella_ ,” she began.

“What’s your point?”

“Well, you never know if it’s looking at Cindy like ‘daaaymn son’ or the guy behind her. It’s possible.”

“Oh, fuck right off.”

They were just walking in for the morning, the sun not even high in the sky yet, and already she was starting. Ymir didn’t live that far away from him, so they always carpooled together. Yeah, that was not going to be happening for much longer. Having to share the back seat with a disembodied Goody head whilst listening to the girlfriends trying to make out whenever they waited at an intersection was bad enough. This? Yeah, this was torture.

“You’ll never know if you don’t ask, Jean,” Christa piped up, slinging her back a little higher on her shoulders. “He might be interested in you.”

“Come on, really though,” Jean said, rolling his eyes, “How would I have that much luck? Really? The guy’s… he’s…” He grunted. “Words fail me.”

“Oh you poor fuck,” Ymir said, not very sympathetically. She bumped him with Goofy’s head. Good thing they were taking the staff entrance, or they would have given some poor kid a heart attack. “You’re really in deep, aren’t you?”

Jean pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. It was true. He was done for. He’d known as much. But hearing it from other people just seemed to twist the sword further into his side. He didn’t even need to retort; his silence was enough for Ymir.

They made their way around to the changing rooms, chatting idly about anything _but_ Freckled Charming to pass the time. Jean was starting to forget about his awkwardness and think that maybe he was the cool guy he made himself out to be… until the door of the costume room swung open.

He squeaked.

He full on fucking _squeaked_. Like a mouse.

All because Freckled Charming was just coming out, his costume draped over his arm.

Ymir’s barking laughter at his reaction made him want to perfect the wallflower plan once again. “Jesus, Freckles, you scared the shit outta him!” she guffawed.

Jean glared at her. _Yeah, thanks Ymir you fucking fuckhead._

“O-oh, I’m really sorry!” Freckled Charming said, his brows slanting down in distress. _Fuck fuck fuck._ “I didn’t think anyone else would be here this early- I was nervous, s-so…”

“Nah, it’s cool fellow Freckler,” Ymir said, stepping towards him and clapping a hand on his broad shoulder. “We always have to get here early or else the traffic’s horrendous. We can be early birds together!” She then moved away and thrust out a hand for him to shake. “Hello, I am Ymir and I play Goofy,” she said, totally deadpan, like they were in an AA meeting when in fact they were stood in front of a jolly looking door with Mickey Mouse proclaiming ‘COSTUMES HERE!’ in joyful lettering. Such was life, Jean guessed.

“G-Goofy?” Freckled Cha- _Marco, his name is Marco_ \- asked, a small smile gracing his features. “Goofy was my favourite when I was a little kid! Do you do the voice too?”

Jean was pretty sure that if the guy got much cuter he wouldn’t be able to stomach it. He would have to blurt something ridiculous out to him and ruin the illusion of ever being a cool, controlled person.

“We’re gonna get on fine then,” Ymir laughed. “And I try to put on the voice, sometimes.” She then seemed to realise that she was having a rather closed off conversation with him, by the way she blinked and began to pay attention to the other two people beside her. “Oh, this is my girlfriend, Christa, she plays Rapunzel,” she waved a hand over the little blonde, “and this is-”

“Flynn!” There came the devastating smile that could stop wars.

The look on Freckles’s face was so joyful Jean was pretty sure something shut down inside him. He couldn’t exactly help it; his rationality and reason seemed to have a door that slammed shut in the presence of incredible smiles. The guy looked so gleeful, so happy to see him, and he _remembered me oh my god oh my god-_

“- Pan guy must’ve annoyed you.”

Jean shook himself out of his little cloud of happiness and realised, with horror, that Marco had been trying to talk to him. A chill of utter embarrassment passed through him. He needed to apologise. Needed to mention how he, Jean, wanted to hear what he had to say. He needed to add that he could listen to him all day- wait, no, that was probably a bit creepy. All he managed to get out, however, was a strangled “Hah?”

Ymir sniggered. “Jean’s brain cannot be here right now, please leave a message after the beep,” she quipped.

Jean wanted to die. “Er, I mean, uh, I’m sorry, I just- uh- I have…” he gabbled. Nothing stuck.

“-problems?” Christa tried.

“Wha- no!” Jean shot her a glare.

Ymir jumped on her girlfriend’s bandwagon with a gleeful smile. “Yeah. Bless. He really comes from the loony bin down the road. Likes to think he’s a Disney character- sad, really. We just let him prance around in a suit sometimes to keep him happy.”

“He loves it.”

“Uh huh, really makes his year.”

“We don’t pay him, obviously.”

“Just the love we see in the little guy’s face makes it worth it.”

Jean couldn’t even retaliate. He just stood there, listening blankly to all the insults thrown at him. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to it; Ymir’s aim in life, behind getting him laid, was to wind him up as much as possible. And seeing as he was a relatively easy target, Ymir got her wish more often than Jean would have liked. However, he usually had something to throw back at them, but seeing as most comebacks stored in the internal bank of Jean were pumped full of swearing and curses, he held back in case anyone other than them was milling around. He must have looked a little resigned at the treatment, because Freckles gave him a sympathetic look. Aw, no. Anything but the sympathy sigh. He didn’t look like he was _believing_ them, at least. That was a plus.

“So, you’re name’s Jean,” the guy said gently. “I’m Marco. Though I guess you might know that by now.” He was phrasing things delicately, as though he was trying to prove he wasn’t a threat to him. Jean was pretty sure the guy hadn’t ever done anything remotely threatening in his life- he just had that kind of innocence about him. “I was saying that the Peter Pan guy looked like he was annoying you.”

“O-oh, yeah.” The gold- dust of homo. He still needed to kill him for that. He was adding more and more reasons to the ‘Killing Connie Springer’ list. But then again, he _had_ told him what sort of coffee Marco liked. Swings and Roundabouts, he guessed. “He can be a bit of an ass at times, but he’s harmless. Bit like his character, really.”

Marco laughed. “Are you like your character?”

Jean shrugged, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. “I dunno, am I a devilishly handsome rogue with an amazing smoulder and an aversion to horses?”

“Well, you’re the last part.”

“Thanks, Christa.”

“I can’t possibly comment”, Ymir chipped in, “I’m a lesbian.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Ymir,” Christa said, rolling her eyes. “You can still appreciate the male form. I do.”

“Well fuck me, if I knew that I’d have drooled over Jean long ago,” Ymir said, the sarcasm dripping so heavily from her words it might have been made of treacle. She then snapped her gaze to Marco. “What about it, Freckles, you think Jean’s handsome?”

_Oh fuck no._

Jean made a noise that sounded bizarrely like a dying cow. “I’m sorry but I need to go I think I left my toaster in the oven,” he blurted, and before Ymir could grab him he bolted. Jean was a surprisingly fast runner when under duress, and he was sure that even Ymir couldn’t keep up with him even if she wanted to.

He only realised he hadn’t picked up his costume until he was halfway towards the employee lounge. He kicked a wall. Unfortunately, the wall kicked back.

He waited a while before going back, red-faced, foot throbbing and muttering into his coffee cup by the time Connie came in. He was already in his Peter Pan finery, and the moment he popped his head around the door Jean’s eyes flicked up to meet his, mouth still hidden behind his coffee mug. He must have looked like a protective parent over its child. Connie froze.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Are you still gonna throttle me?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.” Connie tried a weak smile, inching a little further into the lounge. “Could I offer a consolation?”

Jean’s eyebrow cocked. “I’m listening.”

He was expecting a muffin, nabbed from one of the restaurant kitchens (Connie’s friend Sasha was more than capable of snatching some) or maybe even a free meal ticket at Gaston’s tavern. He fucking _loved_ Gaston’s tavern. What he didn’t expect was Connie to say, with a degree of pride, “I got your break times switched.”

Jean frowned. “How is that consolation? I like my break times.”

Connie looked like he was despairing of Jean’s stupidity. “I got them switched with Reiner’s to _coincidentally_ coincide with a certain Freckled Charming’s times.”

Jean waited a beat. And then another. And then he was grabbing Connie by the collar. “ ** _You did what?!_** ” he screeched.

“Hey, calm down dude, what the fu-?”

“Why did you go and put our fucking times together?!”

“So you can get to know each other, Jesus!” Connie tried in vain to wriggle free. “What’s your problem, you were fawning over him yesterday!”

“Yes, but that was before I ran away from him like a bitch!”

Connie’s fear cracked. He sniggered. “You ran away?”

“Don’t fucking laugh, I panicked! Ymir asked him if he thought I was handsome and I fucking legged it.”

“Oh my God.” Connie completely cracked. And once he started, he couldn’t stop. All the shakes and threats in the world wouldn’t shut up Connie’s laughter, no matter how hard Jean tried.

Jean eventually gave up letting go of him and slumping against the nearest wall. “I’m doomed,” he wailed behind his hands.

“No, you’re not _doomed_. You just have to talk to him like a person, and not the potato with eyes that you truly are. Channel the mind of Flynn, and you’ll be 50% less likely to fuck it up.”

Jean glared at Connie over his fingers. He scooted closer, a large grin on his face, and then, sure enough-

Gold dust. Everywhere.

“Gaaaaay,” Connie trilled.

Yeah, he was definitely going down.

 

* * *

 

 

A costume change and an afternoon later, Jean was hunting down Reiner. Once his meeting spot was finished, he was allowed to wander around the park and do his own thing, so long as he was still in character, and the public could just come up to him as they pleased. Jean usually liked these times. Today, he was on a mission.

He turned the corner into the section he usually never stepped foot in. Adventureland. No princesses or castles to be seen. Instead, they were replaced with spaceships and rollercoasters. Ah, the boyish side of Disney. How he missed it. It didn’t take long to find who he was looking for; Reiner, along with Bertholdt, was stood in the most conspicuous part of the park sector, in front of a familiar cartoonish cloudy background.

“Buzz!” he hissed. “Buzz, c’mere!”

Reiner looked up from where he was signing an autograph book, and waved manically. “Heeey, Flynn! How’s it going, Space Cadet?”

“So-so,” Jean grinned, trying to slip into character despite the situation. “Pascal is being a nuisance lately.”

“I said you should join the space ranger academy. They need a man like you.” Reiner’s smug little grin was the perfect Buzz Lightyear grin, and Jean had to admit that Reiner was incredibly good at his job. He finished the last autograph with a flourish, claiming to the waiting people that he needed to discuss an important mission with Flynn Rider, and walked right on over, smooth as you like. Damn, Jean thought. He needed to learn how to do that. “So,” he said, his voice slipping into a deeper, warmer octave, “what’s the problem?”

“You gotta switch breaks with me!” Jean hissed.

Reiner frowned. “What? Connie only just got them swapped.”

“Yeah, but he made a mistake. I need them changed back.”

“Sorry, no can do.” Reiner shrugged his giant shoulders, the plastic wings of his costume twitching along with him. “I already submitted the inquiry, and you know Erwin won’t let us change it again.”

 _Of course he fucking wouldn’t._ Especially if the manager of the park found out that the reason they were switched in the first place was to give an employee a better chance with the newbie. That would not be pleasant to explain. “Are you sure?” Jean whined.

“Positive. Do you not like Marco or something?” Reiner’s tone bordered on dangerous, and Jean flushed.

“N-no! No, I really like him. He seems… nice.”

Reiner let out a low whistle. “You played the ‘nice’ card. You have the hots for my Bodt, don’t you?”

Jean blinked. “Bodt?”

“His surname, dingbat. Do you not know anything about him?”

Jean folded his arms and gave his hair an arrogant flick, keeping the Flynn-like attributes as he continued (rather more pathetically), “I can’t talk to him. I sound like an idiot whenever I’m around him. He probably thinks I’m an…”

“Idiot?” Reiner laughed. “I wouldn’t worry, Marco has remarkable patience. He did tell me about some weird guy who yelled something about a toaster in his face and then ran away.” He grinned. “Please tell me that wasn’t you.”

Jean said nothing.

Reiner laughed. “Oh, you need help.”

“Don’t remind me,” Jean whined.

“Don’t worry, I can help you out. I’ve known Marco years, and I know how to speak his language.” Reiner laughed. “What do you wanna know?”

“So, he likes…” Jean made some vague hand gestures in the air, to the bafflement of the audience.

“Yes, yes, Prince Charming likes spaceships too!” Reiner boomed out. Jean hoped ‘spaceships’ meant what he thought it meant.

“He does?” Jean said- a bit too loudly. “Er- tha-that’s great, Buzz, because he really wants to come visit you some day!”

“He is always welcome!” Reiner replied.

Jean felt a little more comforted by the news. If Marco was interested in other guys, then he at least had a bit more of a chance than if he was, say, straight. But then again, he was still a ridiculously stupid being whenever he was around him. It was like his brain just stopped working and all he could blabber about was everything that would put Marco off being anywhere near him. Besides, Marco was so much better than him; he was worth a thousand pathetic, blithering Jeans any day. “Good,” was all he managed to get out. “Good, that’s… that’s good.”

“I have to tell you, though,” Reiner said, leaning in extra close and hiding his mouth with a hand to stop any lip-readers in the audience, “he doesn’t like anything freaky sexually.”

Jean full-on yelped as he pulled away from him. “What the hell?!” he shouted, a little too loudly. “Why would I need to know that?!”

“I’m just saying!” Reiner said, wrapping an arm around Jean and steering him around the corner, away from the gaping mouths and the kids that were squawking, “Flynn said ‘hell!’” to their despairing parents. “In case you were into anything like that. Marco doesn’t take kindly to it.”

“Do I _look_ like I am?” When Reiner seriously began to size him up, Jean smacked a hand to his face. “That was a rhetorical question, stop it.” Like it or not, Reiner was the most open of them all about his sexual exploits, and nine out of ten encounters involved his long-suffering boyfriend Bertholdt. Jean honestly didn’t know how the lanky, constantly anxious guy didn’t blow a blood vessel. “I don’t want to know about Marco’s sex life, Reiner. How do you even know that?” He hoped to god that Reiner hadn’t slept with Marco. Even if Bertholdt complained about their tales of intimacy being shared, he never complained whilst _in_ the stories. Idiot or no idiot, Jean would be a goner.

“Well, he gets really awkward whenever I tell him stuff. And makes excuses and leaves. Think you have a traditionalist on your hands there.”

“Reiner, _everyone_ gets really awkward when you tell them stuff. You managed to get Ymir awkward, and believe me that’s an achievement worthy of heroes.”

Reiner’s brows rose. “Shit, really? Wow, I should be knighted.”

Jean shrugged at that.

“Hey, speaking of awkward stories…” The blonde’s eyes began to glimmer.

“Oh no, Reiner, not another one,” Jean whined. He hated hearing Reiner’s stories, mainly because he didn’t get laid enough to warrant being disgusted; worse, he was beginning to get weirdly _curious_ about them. He got awkward too, there was no denying that, but listening to Reiner tell his stories was like listening to a car crash; Jean knew he shouldn’t, but there was that weird part of his brain that got a kick out of hearing it.

“Come on, it’s funny. Honest.”

Jean paused. “Is it funnier than the ‘Snake in my boot’ story?”

“It’s on par.” When Jean did nothing to resist further, Reiner grinned. “Hang on, lemme get this visor up…” He managed it, with a grunt of effort (and Jean worrying that maybe the visor wasn’t meant to come off) and he pointed at his right eye. “See this?”

Jean frowned. “Er, no?”

“Ah, they probably heaped on a load of makeup to cover it up, damn it’s a good one too.” Reiner sighed, as though it genuinely distressed him. “I have the best bruise ever under all this cosmetic junk.”

Jean blinked at him. “This does not sound funny so far.”

“Hear me out! So, Bert and I were on manoeuvres…”

Jean raised a brow. _‘On manoeuvres’? Who the fuck calls it ‘on manoeuvres’?_

“…and it was fucking good, as per usual, because Bert’s fucking fantastic…”

“Is this going anywhere? Because I’m getting uncomfortable already…”

“Patience!” Reiner leaned a little closer, his grin fast turning into a leer. “Have you seen _Gladiator?”_

Well, that threw Jean for a loop. “The… one with Russell Crowe?”

“The very same.”

“Everyone in the English-speaking world has watched that. So what?”

“Well, just after we finish, I sit up. I look him dead in the eye. He’s looking up at me, spent, wasted, done, and so full of that sweet puppy dog look he gets after he’s come. I grin. And then I shout at the top of my lungs, ‘ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?’”

Jean snorted. Oh God. Oh God. The giggles were coming. He couldn’t help it. They were welling up. “And, uh, what happened next?” he asked, trying to hold it in.

Reiner snorted. “Oh, Bert’s brain short-circuited and he punched me in the face whilst screaming, ‘shut the fuck up, the neighbours will hear’. It was awesome.”

That was it. Jean was gone.

He didn’t even notice Bertholdt wander over to them, brows slanted down in concern as he watched Jean doubled over and wheezing through his laughter. “Er, I hate to interrupt but the crowd is getting bigger, Reiner,” he mumbled, casting an anxious glance back the way he’d come.

“Okay, okay, I’ll be there.” Reiner grinned down at Jean. “You alright there Flynny Wynny?”

“Can’t… breathe… oh my god… I can’t believe you…”

It didn’t take long for Bertholdt to make the connection between Jean losing the fight to breathe through laughing so hard and the smug look of his boyfriend. “What did you tell him?!” Bertholdt yelped, his eyes turning the size of dinner plates as he stared Reiner down.

Reiner shrugged. “Oh, nothing much…”

“Reiner!” Bertholdt wailed, turning a tasteful shade of red. “What did you say?!”

“Wow, Bert, calm down. Anyone would think you weren’t… _entertained._ ”

The mortified look on Bertholdt’s face just made it worse. “I- I –I –I,” he stammered. He failed to get anything else out however, because Levi appeared around the corner in full Mickey Mouse glory and the trio immediately straightened up.

“What are you doing out of your area, _Flynn?_ ” came the sinister hiss from inside the costume.

Jean paled. “I, I was just-”

“Why don’t you go back there and wander? Like a _good secondary character._ ”

Jean waved a feeble goodbye to Reiner and Bertholdt and stormed back to his area muttering darkly about he wasn’t the secondary character of anyone’s film.

 

* * *

 

 

An hour later came break time. Jean was just signing out for the measly half hour they had when he felt more than saw someone appear behind him. His hackles rose out of instinct, waiting for more gold dust or stupid comments. But none came. “Er, h-hello.”

Jean spun around. He gulped.

How did he still look so amazing, having been poked and prodded by so many people for hours on end? That had to be something abnormal. He was looking a little nervous though, and scratching the back of his neck and avoiding eye contact and _was he really scared of him?_ Jean thought back to the morning and thought, in retrospect, someone shouting in your face and then running away probably was a healthy reason for fear. He inwardly cringed. “Hey,” he blurted, a little less elegantly than he would have liked but that was nothing new.

“Um, Ymir’s strange,” Marco started.

Understatement of the fucking century.

“Yeah, I’m sorry if she annoyed you, or freaked you out,” Jean muttered, avoiding Marco’s eye in case he slipped up and said something stupid. “She does that.”

Marco nodded earnestly. He waited a moment longer before he asked, “I wondered if… well, if you’re not busy, could I stick with you for break?” He chuckled warmly, anxiously. “I don’t know much about this place, and Levi just let me get on with it, so…”

Jean blinked. Was Marco… voluntarily offering his company?

“And no one else is around, so…”

Jean deflated. _Oh. Yeah. Right. Duh._

“Uh… sure,” he said, trying to sound as brisk and casual as he wanted to be. “Mmhmm, let’s go get… uh, food and… stuff.”

_Oh my fucking God._

Marco only laughed and nodded, and as they walked out of the staff room, Jean decided that if his break went well, he might not have to kill Connie. Not yet, anyway.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean's friends go to new lengths to 'help' him out, and Jean is a major fuck up. As per usual. God I love this awkward boy. Small chapters are small and fun, I like this silly li'l thing more than ever.
> 
> This was a long time coming I'm sorry about that ;3; but it's here now! :D hope you like ittt~
> 
> p.s. Connie is the little brother I always wanted just sayin

“So, you went to lunch huh?”

“Yeah, I went to lunch, so what?”

“Oh, I think you know what’s what.”

Jean rolled his eyes and bit back the urge to tell Connie to go forth and prosper as he stood in the shade of the violently girlish castle. He’d only been out five minutes, and already he was being bombarded by the little imp’s relentless questioning. He was lucky that the park had only been open for half an hour; most of the children were too busy getting their minds blown by the parade down the street to seek out their favourite characters just yet. If they had, they probably wouldn’t have seen anything out of character with Peter Pan perched as close as he could get to Flynn Rider without getting a slap. The kids wouldn’t have minded.

Jean minded very, very much.

“Connie, would you please just back off?” he hissed. “You’re going to get yourself fired if you keep turning up here.”

Connie scooted a little closer despite the threat, his toothy grin trying its best to win Jean over. It wasn’t working. “You had a date with Freeee-ckles,” he sang.

Jean’s cheeks blazed bright red, and he was pretty sure he let a strangled squeak escape him. He tightened his folded arms and hissed, “You’re lucky I signed a contract promising not to hit other members of cast, you dick.”

“No, you’re getting the dick, not me.” When Jean shot him a glare vicious enough to kill at short distances, Connie laughed. “I’m just messing with you man, jeez. Stop being a pissbaby and spill- how was it?”

Jean frowned. “It wasn’t a date, Connie,” he said. “In fact… it was barely even lunch.”

For starters, they couldn’t find anywhere to eat that wasn’t already packed full of tourists. They were allowed to eat anywhere in the park so long as it wasn’t busy to avoid being recognised out of costume. Though Jean was adamant no one would imagine a surly looking 20-something would mould so well into Flynn Rider, Marco was a little harder to hide. They had ended up getting food from a small vendor (some sort of burger than Jean doubted had much actual meat in it) and finding a bench out of sight to eat. Jean didn’t eat much. He was too busy trying to keep his word vomit in check and taking the opportunity to stare unashamedly at what he deemed to be God’s gift to mankind to even think about eating. So the majority of his lunch ended up thrown away- but at least he’d had a nice long chat with Marco…

_Heh. Right._

“You didn’t even _say_ anything?” Connie asked.

Jean groaned and tilted his head back, staring stubbornly up at the clouds in the sky. Maybe they wouldn’t judge him. Then again, they were also likely to morph into the words ‘ha ha’ with how well he usually did with these things. “I suck at life,” he whined.

Jean heard an audible smack, and guessed that Connie had clapped a hand to his head in a ‘my friend’s a fucking idiot’ type of gesture. “Dude, what is your problem?” he demanded. “It’s like you have a freaking self-destruct button installed that makes you fuck up good situations.”

“It’s not like I _want_ the self-destruct button!” Jean grumbled, still keeping his gaze firmly on the sky. “I was just… I dunno, I guess I was just programmed that way, if we wanna run with the robot analogy.”

“Who’s a robot now?”

The new voice made Jean’s head jerk back to its rightful place, swivelling curiously around to see the most wide-eyed, innocent looking person left of Christa. If only they all knew. For someone playing a rather naïve and innocent character, Sasha was anything but. He grinned. “Oh, hey Sash. Just talking about how I royally screw up any and all situations I am left in alone, the usual.”

“Oh, that?” She tilted her head as she neared them, her hair trussed into a thick plait down her back. Her painted on freckles weren’t the same as Marco’s, Jean thought to himself with a pathetic little twinge to his chest. She folded her arms, her mitten-clad hands tucked into the crooks of her elbows, and Jean thought how hot she must have been under the unmerciful sun burning them to a crisp. One thing was for certain, Sasha was a trooper. “Isn’t that whole ‘I’m such a screw up’ a little old now?”

Jean felt himself wilt a fraction. “Gee, thanks.” _Scratch previous thought, she can burn in her mittens._

“I only speak the truth, Jean. You know it better than I do.” She glanced at Connie and gave him a beaming smile. “Hey, there’s my main man. Whatcha doin’ Con?”

Connie, to Jean’s amusement, looked ready to burst with excitement. Sasha and Connie were firm friends, having met in childhood (they were in the same time out after biting the same child) and everyone was waiting for them to shut up and get married. Only Jean seemed to get them: he wished that he had someone like Connie had Sasha. It didn’t matter whether they were going out or not- they had each other no matter what. Connie leaned forward on the railings, doffing his hat to her. “M’lady,” he greeted, causing a small child to giggle nearby. “I’ve been chasing sunbeams and teasing mermaids. How’s your day going?”

“That’s my line,” Jean muttered through gritted teeth.

Connie sniffed. “I’m older than you, I can do what I like.”

“By six months.”

“Details, my friend, mere details.”

Sasha laughed at their squabbling. “I’m starved, can’t wait for my break,” she said. “I could eat a reindeer.”

“I don’t think that’s the main use for reindeer, Sash.”

“Well, actually…”

“Shut up, Jean.”

He saw Petra materialise out of the ether too late. When he did turn and spot her, he knew that-

“Hey Flynn!”

Freckled Charming wouldn’t be far behind.

He couldn’t help the bright look that sprang to his face, a look that Connie later said resembled an excited otter. “Hi!” he said, grinning at the way Marco’s face turned a little pink at his enthusiasm. And… that was about it. His brain gave him little else to go on, and he was simply stood grinning like an idiot at him for a beat too long. Long enough, he noticed, for Marco’s smile to falter. _Ah shit._

Sasha saved the day, to his immense relief. “Hey newbie! How did you find the wonderful world of Disney’s best fast food?” she asked, trotting up to him and smiling up at him. “Wow, you’re _tall_.”

Marco blinked down at her like she was an alien. “Er, h-hello,” he said, a little nervous at her overly friendly nature. He chuckled. “I am a little tall, I guess… m-my mum’s like a beanpole, and my dad’s tall too, so er…”

_Wow,_ Jean thought as he watched Marco blabber on, _maybe there is someone just as awkward as I am in this world._ Though, he considered, it was around Sasha, and Sasha was pretty damn scary when she wanted to be. Not everyone got on with her often violent shows of friendship. Marco was skirting back to the question about food by this point, and Sasha looked half-bored by the conversation. “It… it was okay… though I don’t think my stomach agrees.”

That got Jean’s attention. He frowned and dared to take a step closer. “You’re not feeling too good?” he asked. He saw Connie roll his eyes out of the corner of his own, and he tried to ignore him. “I’ve never heard of the food being funky…”

“N-no, honestly, I’ll be fine!” Marco said, bringing his hands up in a ‘mercy’ sort of gesture. “I’m just not used to the food! I’m fit as a fiddle, honest!”

Jean pursed his lips. He stepped closer, peering up at the clearly uncomfortable Prince Charming. Marco was the type of person who didn’t like to put anyone out. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he did. He was pretty sure the guy could be dying of cholera and he would still tell everyone he was fine. He let his eyes glance over him for a little longer than was necessary, before letting out a short huff. “Yyyeah, I’m not buying that.”

“R-really, there’s nothing wrong with m-”

“Maybe you should give Jean your number,” Connie butted in.

Everyone went awkwardly silent.

Jean felt like the entire world was going to crash around him. He turned to look at Connie eerily slowly, trying to contain the inner scream that was desperate to burst out of him, and managed to twitch out a very tense, “What?” through gritted teeth.

Connie was grinning, actually grinning, and Jean felt ready to look for the nearest train to throw himself under. “Well, I mean you two come in around the same time, right? So if you do come down with something, Marco, you can let Jean know instead of just not turning up. Jean can tell the higher-uppers, seeing as he has their contact details and you don’t yet.”

Jean wanted to cry.

Marco let a frown cross his face, a perfect frown for a perfect face. “Actually… that does make a lot of sense,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “Maybe I should. If that’s alright with you, Jean.”

He blinked once. Twice. This hadn’t backfired on him? What was wrong? Were the gods distracted? Was fate too busy making someone else’s life a misery? He wasn’t going to sit around and question it. He nodded. “Sure, that’s fine with me,” he said. He tried not to sound too cheery at the thought of texting Marco about being ill. It was strictly work. Yeah. Work.

Sasha looked like she wanted to cheer as Marco said that he would wait behind after their shifts to switch numbers, and actually did cheer when Marco and Petra drifted off to go to their Meet and Greet spot. “Well done Jeanbo, achievement unlocked: The Number Bodt,” she said, shaking his hand gravely.

“Piss off,” Jean hissed, jerking his hand out of her grip. “And _you_ -” He pointed viciously at Connie, “- don’t you dare pull a stunt like that again, you almost gave me a heart attack.”

Connie shrugged, his grin still plastered on his face. “At least you’d have died happy.”

“Why you son of a…”

“Look everybody, it’s Flynn Rider, Peter Pan and Ana!”

Oh yeah. In the excitement, Jean had forgotten he was actually meant to be _working._ And the crowd of visitors was starting to grow in number now that the eleven o clock slot had passed; there would be no space for chatter now. He gave Connie one last glower before he spotted a sour-faced girl in a Tinkerbell costume stomp over to them. He didn’t have chance to greet her. She gave him a filthy look as though it was all his fault and dragged Connie away by the ear, muttering something about, “being out of your area” and “such a naughty boy Peter” amid Connie’s whimpers and shrieks of pain. Jean shuddered. _Annie. Sheesh._ Contrary to popular belief, Annie was voted most like her character, and he could see why. Every time he’d watched _Peter Pan_ he’d thought Tinkerbell was a mean son of a bitch, and Annie only solidified that belief.

“Oop, Peter looks like he’s in trouble for running away!” Sasha giggled. “But that’s only because Tink cares for him very, very much! That’s why you should always stay where you belong kids, with people who love you!”

The children just seemed to be shouting the name “ANA” over and over again instead of listening to Sasha’s pearls of wisdom, so Jean left them to it. He wandered back to his area, bowing to a group of French teenage girls he passed by without a second thought. Their squeals of delight were somewhat better than the children’s. He leant on the railings. He smouldered a little bit. He smirked. He did all the things he had to. But he couldn’t help glancing Marco’s way whenever he got the chance, and hated just how high his heart leapt every time he smiled.

* * *

 

They swapped numbers after their shift. Jean was in the process of lugging his bag out of his locker when he heard footsteps jogging in his direction. As he was usually on high alert for the sort of pounce tactics both Connie and Ymir loved to inflict upon him, his spin around to confront the somebody made them skid to a halt. He blinked. Marco. Oh fuck, and he was on his own too, could this get any worse? No matter how much he hated the fact that his friends stuck their noses into his business, they had gotten him this far. Now he was flying solo, with no wing men to speak of…

And he had to be honest with himself, he was a shitty ass pilot.

“Oh, s-sorry for startling you!” Marco said immediately, his eyes going inexplicably large the longer Jean stared at him. “I just didn’t want to miss you!”

Jean squared his shoulders. He could do this. He _could_. He dropped the slightly startled expression he’d been wearing previously and settled for a small smile. _Okay, brain. You are a cognitive machine. Make words. Just a few. Enough to make me sound like a sane member of society. Enough to charm him, maybe?_ “Oh, er, nah that’s alright.”

_Fucking bravo, you piece of shit._

“I usually finish a little late anyway, so.”

Marco nodded as though Jean was saying the most interesting thing in the world. That made him feel a little better, even if it was just to humour him. “I, uh, got held up,” Marco admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with a chuckle.

Jean could see that; he was still in his Prince Charming costume, though the make-up was all gone now. He was trying not to stare at the way his freckles stood out like tiny little stars against his cheeks. Whoever said that he had to cover up those adorable little dots would need a severe talking to. Not by Jean. By… other people. He managed to get out a strangled “oh?” whilst he tried not to be as obvious as he thought he was being.

Marco nodded. “Some little girl, she…didn’t wanna say goodbye.” He chuckled again.

Jean smiled. He could imagine why. If he had the chance to cling to Marco’s leg he wasn’t sure he would be able to pull away either. _Brain, you are a fucking creep, stop it._ “You should’ve dragged her back here. Then she’d change her tune pretty quick.”

It had been a joke (and a very bad one at that) but Marco looked scandalised. “I couldn’t do that!” he said. “It would ruin it for her!”

Jean went to retort, but his mouth snapped shut. Damn, Marco really was sweet. He was sweeter than Jean had even anticipated; he hadn’t been working at the park five minutes and he was already so into it. He knew that no matter what happened, the children came first, and he couldn’t spoil anything for them. For all they knew, he _was_ Prince Charming, and they were actually meeting him. That had taken Jean a few weeks, maybe a month or so- he was a cynical bastard at heart, and liked to share his cynicism whenever possible. But he couldn’t say any of it. He simply shrugged again, shut his locker door and mumbled a soft, “whatever,” under his breath.

This was not going to plan. He was meant to be sweeping Freckled Charming off his freckled fucking feet and it was not happening. He glanced back to him and saw that Marco was biting his lip, eyes downcast and a little saddened. He tensed. _Oh no. Had he managed to-?_

“I’m sorry. You probably think I’m a right nerd, yeah?”

_Oh fuck he had. He had managed to make Freckled Charming feel like an idiot._

“N-no, I’m sorry!” Jean blurted. Marco glanced at him, and the eye contact just made everything tumble out of Jean’s mouth like a fire hose. “It’s just you care about it so much and that’s great because not many people do they see it as a job and you see it as more than that like I do and you have freckles and they’re nice.” He clapped a hand to his mouth.

Ohhh fuck.

He needed to leave town.

Marco looked bowled over by the well of information Jean had pretty much screamed at him in his panic, his eyes large and eyebrows disappearing up into his mop of hair. Jean didn’t say a word. He still had his hand clamped to his mouth because he couldn’t trust the damn thing to keep shut, and he was pretty sure he was going to get a headrush from how fiercely red he was turning. He was pretty sure he’d even stopped breathing.

_Good. If I black out I can pretend I wasn’t such a fucking moron._

Marco made a choked noise. Jean came down to earth in time to realise that he was _laughing._ It was nice to see, great even- but Jean wasn’t exactly sure what it meant. Marco laughed like he was trying to be polite, but it was exploding out of him despite his attempts, and it made Jean flush for different reasons. “You… er… think my freckles are nice?” Marco said between chuckles, gracing him with a bright, relieved smile.

Jean let out a noise like a dying pterodactyl.

Marco’s laughter only got louder. “T-that… wasn’t exactly what I thought you’d say, but alright.”

“I am so sorry,” Jean mumbled through his hand. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Um, it’s fine. You don’t seem to be very good when you panic…” Marco grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be blunt. Unless you scream random compliments at strangers on a day to day basis, in which case I don’t know if working around children is a great career path for you.”

“You’re not a stranger,” was Jean’s excellent response. That just made Marco chuckle again. Jean let his hand drop from his mouth. Why was he finding this so… easy? “No, no, you’re right. I don’t do well under pressure,” he said. “But I, uh, didn’t mean to upset you. I don’t do talky words well.”

_And that, you fucking tool, just proved it._  

It wasn’t all bad though. Marco laughed again. Jean could listen to him laugh for hours. “Well, anyway, do you still want my number? I think your friend was pretty adamant about it. I didn’t realise so many people would care about me here already.” He smiled, all innocence and light, and Jean had to really stop himself from blurting out the truth- that they were all trying to matchmake like they never had before. “I feel okay right now, but…”

At that exact instance, his stomach decided to make a very unhappy noise. Marco frowned down at its interruption. Jean smirked. “I don’t think it agrees with you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Marco mumbled to himself, but he was already fishing his phone out of his locker and handing it over to Jean. “Could you put your number in? I need to go change.” Jean fumbled for it, trying to ignore the moment where their fingers had brushed over each other’s, and- flipped it up? “Wow,” he said without thinking.

Marco snorted. “D-don’t judge me. I like it,” he called over his shoulder. It was a bright green flip up phone that looked more at home in the early ‘00s. Of course Marco liked it. He was scuttling towards the bathroom at that moment, and Jean was grateful. He didn’t know if he would be able to cope if Marco decided to start undressing in front of him. Talking to him like a normal human being was a step. Being able to stand in the same room as a swiftly undressing Marco was a leap- and would probably end in him becoming a very gloopy puddle.

Jean tapped his number into the little device, before pausing at the name stage. He hesitated. To be normal, or completely and utterly idiotic? He didn’t get much time to decide; the second he glanced up, he saw Marco wander back towards him. He blinked.

Oh Christ.

Marco had run a hand through his hair to make it less ordered. He had a button-up shirt underneath a navy blue jacket, and he’d forgotten to do up a button. That meant that Jean got a flash of collarbone and _oh GOD there are freckles there where else are there freckles on this man’s body are they EVERYWHERE?_ Jean cleared his throat. He’d been staring again. He needed to stop that- or at least, keep it in check. Marco offered him a small smile, and he nearly chirped at him before tapping something in and handing it back. His hands were sweaty. Gross.

Marco glanced at it and sniggered. “Flynn Kirschtein?” he questioned.

Jean tried to shrug it off. He really did. But as he shrugged, mortification trickled down his spine like ice. He knew he should have just been normal. He was an idiot. He wanted to smack himself. “Y-you can change it to Jean, I don’t care.”

“Nah. It’s okay. I like it.” Jean had to admit, his heart swelled a little when he saw the smile Marco gave his stupid little number as he saved it and slipped it in the pocket of his jeans. Jeans that were really well-fitted…

The buzzing text tone that Marco’s old and obnoxiously green phone emitted was enough to jolt Jean out of the gutter and back into the room with an almighty crash. It was like the phone was judging him. He didn’t blame it. He was still twitching when Marco read whatever the hellspawn phone of his had received, and he noticed the frown that graced Marco’s features. “Ugh, my lift is waiting for me. I’ll have to go, Jean, I’m sorry. I’ll text you. And, um, you’ll get my number that way, if that’s alright.”

Jean blinked. “O-oh yeah! Yeah, that’s… that’s fine…”

Marco beamed. Full-on beamed. “Great! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“If you’re alive!” Jean called after his retreating back.

Marco snorted. “I’ll be fine! You guys worry too much!”

Jean sighed as Marco left, shutting the door behind him with a gentle ‘ _click’._ Well, that could have gone a hell of a lot worse than it did. He was still getting his number, at least: even if it was for innocent reasons. And he laughed. That was a plus… right? Jean groaned. He was so fucked.

Shutting his eyes was a mistake.

“You hate it when he leave but you looove watching he go.”

“GAH MOTHERFU-” Jean threw himself backwards, straight into the opposite set of lockers. Unfortunately, one of those lockers belonged to Levi, and he’d left something behind. Or at least, that’s what Jean registered after a minute of screaming because a disembodied Mickey Mouse head bounced off his chest and rolled onto the floor. “YMIR WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT.”

Ymir’s cackles were as witch like as ever, and Jean got to thinking that he really, really had to invest in new friends. But when he received the simple little “=)” that gave him Marco’s number, he guessed things couldn’t be all that bad.

* * *

 

 Marco texted him later on that evening.

**From: Freckled Charming**   
**_Promise you won’t be smug. I feel like I’ve thrown up everything I’ve ever eaten ever :C_**

Jean wanted to suggest he come over and comfort him. He decided that that was way, way out of his comfort zone. For once, he settled for a normal reply. It took him three attempts, and twenty minutes of staring blankly at the screen hovering over the ‘send’ button, but eventually it came out:

**To: Freckled Charming**   
**_Too late. Already smug._**

 

_Nailed it._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE!
> 
> Yeah I decided to write another chapter for this AU cus it's cute and cuddly and it's a good break away from the heavy themes of SFS and the equestrian elitism of Hackamore. This is also because I hit 700 followers on my Tumblr blog, and I am seriously still in shock about that. When I made that blog, hell when I started writing fanfic, I never thought it would get this far. I never thought I'd have people coming into my inbox and saying how my work has impacted them and made them feel so many varying emotions, and... well it's a big boost to my pretty battered self-confidence. I feel so much more in control of my writing now, and at risk of sounding sappy it was all down to you guys, so thank you! This is your reward :) 
> 
> SO we have Jean being an awkward noodle as per usual, Eren makes an appearance, and Reiner attempts to help lil Jeanbo along on the path to the Bodty. Poor, poor Jean is all I can say :'D 
> 
> Enjoy!

**To: Freckled Charming  
_So, how we feelin?_**

**From: Freckled Charming  
_I feel so bad :c can’t believe it’s been three days. what do they put in those burgers_**

**To: Freckled Charming  
_I dnt think u wanna know haha_**

**From: Freckled Charming  
_Will it make me throw up more?_**

**To: Freckled Charming  
_Probs_**

**From: Freckled Charming  
_Okay please don’t tell me :c_**

Jean sniggered as he replied to the last text Marco had sent him, clearly still feeling sorry for himself. After the whole food poisoning fiasco, the head staff had no choice but to give Marco sick leave for a few days to get better- the park was, after all, partly to blame- and though Jean hadn’t been able to snatch glimpses of his all too obvious crush, he now had something better. He had Marco’s _number_. That was a step for him, and a massive one at that. He never plucked up the courage to ask any guy for their number without falling over his feet at least twice and babbling about their best features and giving them the most endearing face he could manage. It wasn’t exactly the _orthodox_ way of going about getting someone’s phone number, but he was in contact with him, so that had to mean something… right?

It helped that Marco hadn’t shut up since the first few texts; he just kept on going, and Jean was all too happy to reply. Texts were easy. He could do texts. Texts didn’t involve standing in front of someone and trying to act cool. Texts were texts, and you could make yourself out to be the smoothest motherfucker in the world even if you were a secret loser like Jean so clearly was.

He was slumped in one of the chairs in the break room, giggling like a teenage girl whenever a whimpery little text came through, and after the fourth bout of barely stifled glee he heard a book get thrown down onto the table, hard. “For the love of fuck, can you _stop?_ ” When he glanced up, he saw that Eren Jaeger was glaring at him from the opposite side of the table, his hair flopping down in front of his face to mask half of his infuriated expression. “You’re like a fucking fourteen year old girl, you’re making me wanna gag.”

Jean snorted and sunk down farther in his seat. “Fuck you, Jaeger.” He hadn’t even noticed Eren come in. Shit. Normally he would have upped and left before the idiot got the chance to sit down. Their meetings never ended well. “Get beaten up by Mikasa for sleeping in again today?” he muttered. He couldn’t help it.

The way Eren flushed suggested he had. “I’m trying to read my fucking book in peace, will you shut it?”

Jean feigned shock. “You can _read?_ ”

“JEAN I SWEAR TO GOD.”

“Don’t be mean to poor Jeanbo,” came a voice from the door, and Jean groaned. Aw, fuck, not Connie. Anyone but Connie. His friend sauntered in with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face, and before Jean could tell him to shut up he sang, “Our little Jeanny boy’s in looove.”

Eren blinked once. Twice. Then his face corrupted into a grin to rival Connie’s. _Ah fucking hell shitballs._ Eren was bad enough to be around anyway- being around Eren when he had something to taunt you about was ten times worse. “Oh really?” he said, turning his attention back to Jean. “Who’s the unlucky girl?”

Jean hated the way he flushed bright red and wriggled down in his seat. “S’not a girl,” he muttered.

Eren let out a barking laugh. “HA. Armin owes me money, I knew you weren’t straight!” he crowed in triumph.

“Is everyone that fucking fascinated by who I bang?” Jean hissed.

“Well, in our defence,” Connie said, dropping into the seat next to him, “you haven’t got laid in a while.”

Jean shot his friend a look of loathing. “When did you guys last get laid then?” The way Eren dived his head back into his book and Connie avoided his eye made him huff. “Thought so.”

“It’s different with you, though,” Connie said, straddling the chair nearest him and blinking at Jean like he was a museum exhibit. “With you, it’s more like… a social experiment.”

“What?!”

Eren pointed at Connie without looking up from his book. “That’s exactly it.”

“What is?!”

“You just… Jean, you gotta admit this to yourself. You’re a bit difficult to get along with.”

Jean felt himself growing hot under his shirt. “Wha- I am NOT.”

“Yeah, you are.” Eren looked up from his book and smirked. “You take ages to get close to, and even then you’re an emotionally constipated moron half the time.”

“Well then why are you still my friends if I’m such an awful fucking person?” he snapped, sinking deeper into his chair. His phone pinged with another text from Marco. He had to force himself not to look; he knew his mood would change instantly the moment he saw it.

Eren shrugged. “We get bored.”

“Why you little fucking-”

“It’s nine o clock brats,” came a voice from the doorway. “What the hell are you doing sitting around gossiping?” Everyone bolted up out of their seats in a single motion, Eren knocking over his tea in the process, and Jean promised murder if any of it got on his costume. The thing was dry clean only and that shit cost money. Levi had come for his head, but to Jean’s relief he seemed to only have eyes for Eren. “Why the fuck aren’t you in costume, Jaeger?” he demanded.

Eren could only be reduced to a blubbering wreck in front of two people: Mikasa, and Levi. Mikasa was probably already out there, standing under the cherry blossom trees that never seemed to die off. He opened and closed his mouth a few times like his audio wasn’t quite working, before managing to blabber out, “I d-didn’t know who you wanted me to be t-today.”

“Kinky.”

“FUCK OFF CONNIE.”

Levi raised an eyebrow. Eren played a variety of different characters; he was a stand in for anyone who got sick most of the time, which essentially meant he was the dogsbody of the park. As Levi’s next door neighbour and nephew, Eren didn’t have a hope in hell of getting out of doing _anything_. At the moment they had a Jack Sparrow off with an ear infection and a Donald with a broken arm from a skiing accident, so Eren was being kept pretty busy. Jean would have felt sorry for him, if Eren wasn’t such of an asshole.

“Jack Sparrow,” Levi decided in an instant, and that was that.

Eren scuttled off to get changed, muttering “sorry sorry sorry I’m so sorry” as he went, and the others were unleashed into the park for the first shift of the day. Jean knew he should have kept his phone in his locker, but he couldn’t help slipping it into the pocket of his trousers. However lame it sounded, he liked knowing that Marco was only a pained text away.

* * *

He immediately regretted his decision once he got his break. He slumped down into one of the plastic chairs, feet complaining about the fact they had been in use for the better half of three hours, and shot Christa a sympathetic smile as she followed suit. “I always forget how insane school holidays are,” he said.

“Ugh, yeah.” Christa huffed out through her nose and slid a bottle of water across the table to him. When he caught it and unscrewed the lid, she commented, “It’s a shame Marco couldn’t be here. I mean, he would’ve taken the pressure off some of us.”

Jean let out a half-listening hum as he took a gulp of water- they weren’t allowed much else when they were still in costume. Jean found that out the hard way after spilling Coke all over himself and Levi nearly bludgeoned him with the Mickey Mouse head. Then he remembered. _Marco had texted him._ He dug his phone out of his pocket and saw that he had four messages.

_Oh shit on a stick._

He opened them up with a slightly higher heart rate than before, and hoped against hope it wasn’t anything bad.

**From: Freckled Charming  
_I feel a little better now but lonely, wondered if you wanted to maybe stop by my house after you finish today? :) don’t bring burgers_**

**From: Freckled Charming  
_If you’re tired though, I understand- must be p busy there today!_**

**From: Freckled Charming  
_Have you got stuck under a mountain of screaming children? :) if you don’t want to meet up just say!_**

**From: Freckled Charming  
_Pls reply when you can I am worried about a child induced accident_**

Jean cringed. “Ah, shit,” he whimpered.

Christa looked up from her own bottle with a frown. “What’s up?”

“Marco wants to meet up after work. Just us.” Jean swallowed painfully. All the connotations of that danced around his head like pixies, but he couldn’t bring himself to get excited. Nope. Instead the large, gaping cavernous hole of fear decided to take him in its chokehold.

Christa beamed at him. “That’s great! He wants to spend time with you outside of work! That means he likes you!”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Jean mumbled, swiping a hand across his brow. “It means he’s bored and wants someone to entertain him, and he thought I’d be the perfect candidate.” Marco could not have made a worse decision. Without someone as his wingman, Jean Kirschtein was a train wreck. Worse than that, a train wreck plowing into a car crash. Jean was cringing just thinking about it.

Christa shrugged. “Well you are pretty cute. Maybe he likes nice furniture.”

Jean gawped at her. “C-Christa you can’t just _say_ that!” he spluttered, nearly dropping his phone on the table in the process.

“Well, it’s true. You are pretty cute. And even if you are a bit awkward, sometimes people find that endearing in a person.”

Somehow, Jean wasn’t sure Marco would find his dying whale noises endearing. “I dunno, Christa…” he said, frowning as he stared down at his phone. “This doesn’t feel like it’ll go well.” He read the messages over and over, searching for a hidden meaning. Searching for a word to pop out and shout ‘APRIL FOOLS MOTHERFUCKER’ to end it all. But there was nothing. Freckled Charming just wanted company. And… he wanted _Jean?_ Really? Of everyone in the world, he wanted the guy who made questionable noises when he was nervous and constantly fucked up?

Hmm. This was going to be interesting.

He was close to making up an excuse when Reiner burst into the room and grabbed his phone out of his hand. “Well look who we got here!” he trawled, eyes lighting up behind his helmet as he scrolled through the little conversation Jean had been having. He flicked his visor up so they could hear him better and squinted at the screen. His contacts were clearly playing up on him. “Is Jeanny boy trying to flirt?”

“Reiner, give it back!” Jean snapped, trying in vain to snatch his phone back. Even without the Buzz costume Reiner was built like a baby rhino- he didn’t have a chance. “It’s private!”

“Why, you been sexting?” The scrolling got more intense.

“NO OH MY GOD GIVE IT.”

“Awww,” he sighed happily. “Prince Charming’s so poorly and he wants Flynn Rider to come nurse him. It’s like a bad fanfic waiting to happen.”

Jean’s face soured. “You are so dead.”

Reiner grinned at the phone with the kind of mischief that always made Jean’s stomach drop ten places. “Marco’s been asking about you, by the way. He’s so cute when he gets all enthusiastic about a new person in his life.”

“He has?” Jean’s tune changed in a split second. He swivelled around on his chair and blinked up at Reiner. “What does he say?”

Reiner shook his head, still grinning, and kept Jean’s phone out of reach. “Ah, ah, ah, you threatened me with death. I couldn’t possibly say.”

“ _Reiner._ ” Jean felt like an excitable puppy as he sat there, practically bouncing on his heels. “Tell me, please?”

“I’m sorry, I believe it may be classified on grounds of Star Command,” he smiled.

“Reiner, don’t make me beg.” Jean scooted his chair closer. “Does he say good things? You gotta tell me, man, I’m dying here.” He scooted even closer. “Does he at least say I’m cute? Christa thinks I’m cute.”

Reiner looked over at her and frowned. “You do? Didn’t think Kirschtein was your type.”

Christa smiled innocently. “I call ‘em as I see ‘em.”

“Aren’t I cute?”

“I’d say more aesthetically pleasing.”

“I can live with that.”

“GUYS.”

“Ugh, _fine.”_ Reiner rolled his eyes. He fixed Jean with a defeated, if not unamused expression. “He likes your butt and fancy hair.”

Jean blinked. “That’s it?”

“Jesus you’re a needy little fucker ain’t you?” Reiner said, finally deciding he’d done enough teasing to hand Jean’s phone back to him. “Can you just accept that for once in your tiddly existence that you have to work hard for people to like you?”

Jean heard a distinct ‘whoop there it is’ from Christa but chose to ignore it. Maybe Reiner was right; Jean was so used to being able to wander up to girls and get them sunk with nothing more than simple body language and a wink, but guys was a whole new ball game. He could pull off being the haughty awkward nerveball with girls, but guys didn’t seem to have as much patience. Having to work for it, especially for Marco, sounded beyond daunting right now. Seeing as around 70 percent of the things he’d said in front of Marco were inarticulate babbling, it wasn’t the best track record. Still, there was time to change that, he guessed. And when he looked down at his phone, he realised even quicker that his mind had been made for him.

**To: Freckled Charming  
_Soz i was too busy bein awesome nd brooding like the sexi mothafucka that i is. Sounds gd to me, i miss ur face mwa mwa <3_**

Jean’s face drained of colour. He leapt to his feet and brandished the phone at Reiner, horror snapping his eyes wide and causing his voice to break halfway through “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?” he screeched, waving the phone in front of Reiner’s face.

Reiner grinned. “An acceptance text.”

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?”

“Hey, would you have done it if I hadn’t have?”

Jean let out a noise akin to a car alarm losing its battery and slumped back onto his chair. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh _fuck,_ ” he whined as he frantically tapped out a reply. Unfortunately, Marco hadn’t had the same distractions Jean had, and already replied with a simple ‘?’ Jean was a goner.

**To: Freckled Charming  
_Oh my god that was Reiner I am so sorry I’m sorry I’m so s_**

**From: Freckled Charming  
_Oh! Tell him I say hi :) I didn’t think it was you haha. Do… you still want to come over though?_**

Jean bit his lip. _Ohh he was going to regret this._

**To: Freckled Charming  
_Sure what’s ur address_**

He paused.

**To: Freckled Charming _  
And I’m still sorry_**

It took a little longer to get a response back, as Marco was clearly tapping out the entirety of his address on his shitty little green flip up. Jean only got the text when he was getting up ready to start the next shift. After the address popped up (a street not too far away from Jean’s apartment) Marco added something else.

**From: Freckled Charming  
_And it’s fine Jean haha I miss your face too ;D_**

Jean spent the rest of his shift decoding whether or not it was genuine or teasing. He drove Connie mad with the potential implications, but as Annie had to drag Connie away for the umpteenth time, Jean thought going to visit Marco wouldn’t be so bad.

* * *

A few hours later saw Jean sitting outside Marco’s house wishing he’d never been born. At least, he thought it was Marco’s house. He wasn’t good with directions. All the same, everything seemed to go wrong after that particular break. He got bitten by the horse in the parade, _again._ A girl almost spilt milkshake all over his waistcoat because she got too excited at seeing Flynn Rider (she should have known better, she was fucking _sixteen_ for crying out loud). And to top it all off, Jaeger had been sauntering around in full Jack Sparrow garb watching the girls fawn over him like he was the best thing they’d ever seen. Jean just had to grin and bear it, though he thought it perfectly in character to go up to Eren and steal his hat for the remainder of the afternoon. It was what Flynn would do.

He hadn’t thought about Marco (and the potential the whole ‘going over his house’ idea held over him) until he got back to his apartment at the end of the day. There was no way in hell he was going to go over in what he’d worn to work- because, he had to face it, he wore sloppy clothes to work. There was no point in dressing well if you just had to change out of it anyway. Instead he looked through his wardrobe, thinking desperate thoughts. He couldn’t go too fancy, this wasn’t a date. He couldn’t go too comfortable and be considered a slob. He heaved out a sigh. He was in trouble. He texted Connie for something to do and ended up being able to snag a ride off of him, to his utter surprise. Everyone really was committed about this whole ‘getting him laid’ thing. _Still_ , Jean thought to himself as he pulled out a likely looking shirt, _if you can’t beat them, join them_.

Which was why he was sat outside Marco’s house. In jeans and a stripy hoodie that made him look about fourteen. _Excellent choice there Kirschtein, you fucking tool._

Connie was watching him out the corner of his eye as they loitered in the middle of the road. Jean was pretty sure they’d been that way for about ten minutes. Connie cleared his throat. Jean shuffled uncomfortably. “So… you gonna go in there?” Connie asked.

Jean stiffened. “M-maybe.”

“Jean,” Connie groaned, killing the engine, “just go in. He’s not gonna eat you.” Connie paused. “Well, he’ll buy you dinner first.”

Jean whined and put his head in his hands. “Kill me now.”

“You’ll be fine. Have more faith in yourself.” Connie leaned to get to the glove compartment and took something out of it. Jean’s face soured when he saw what it was.

“Do you keep fucking glitter everywhere just in case opportunity strikes?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny.” Connie flicked a pinch of it over his head with a hastily whispered ‘ _perfect’,_ reached over him, and opened the car door wide. “Go on, you little loser, get going.”

Jean took a final breath, thanked life for almost being a gift, and clambered out of the tiny little car. He could do this. Come on. He just couldn’t let his tongue run away with him. Connie gave him a cheerful whoop of encouragement before slamming his foot on the gas and speeding away- before Jean could change his mind. Jean turned to face the street he was meant to be walking on, and remembered to breathe. Breathing was good. He needed to breathe to live. _Come on Kirschtein, stop being so nervous._ He took a step forward, then the other. Remarkably, walking came quite naturally after that.

Marco lived in a small house all to himself (Jean wondered if he was rich or whether he just had a lot of luck) and for some reason Jean picked it out before even looking at the number. It was cute. Cheerful. It had a perfect little front lawn. Jean groaned with how adorable it all was.

He walked up to the front door, took another of those good, life-giving breaths, and rang the doorbell.

He waited.

He could hear loud thumping going on behind the door, like there was some tiny battle going on just out of sight, before he heard the turn of a latch. He froze. Here goes.

Marco opened the door one handed, but Jean barely had chance to take in the warm brown eyes and the wilder than normal hair before there was a blur of grey and white fur assaulting his vision and he was on the floor. “Max, no!” he heard Marco scold, and when he came to his senses enough realised that he was being licked all over by a very enthusiastic ball of fluff. A very large, very happy ball of fluff. “W-what the-”

“I’m really sorry!” Marco’s hand vanished into the fluff to grab a collar and pull the creature back, even if it was still wriggling in his grip. The small pink tongue kept disappearing into the mass of white and grey fur before appearing again a moment later, mouth flopping open as though he was smiling. “Max really likes strangers, but he’s harmless! Really!”

Once Jean had got to his feet, he realised that ‘Max’ was a very large Old English Sheepdog. And he was happy to see him.

He couldn’t help the breathless chuckle that came out of his mouth. “It’s alright, my mum’s got dogs.” His mother had pugs, but that wasn’t the point. He reached out and patted the dog on the top of the head. “Hey there, bud.” Max wriggled in Marco’s grip and licked the back of Jean’s hand with a whine. Suddenly, Jean relaxed.

“W-wanna come inside?” Marco said. “I’m not contagious at least, s-so you won’t get sick! Er, I have some food in the oven if you haven’t eaten?”

Jean took the opportunity to actually look at Marco; and instantly relaxed. Marco made him look overdressed. He was wearing tracksuit bottoms with parts that clung to his ankles, and a two sizes too big T-shirt. The fact that it was bright pink and had what Jean swore was a My Little Pony on it was another thing entirely. Marco looked slobby, and that was most definitely a good thing in Jean’s book. He grinned and nodded in response to Marco’s question. “I’d like that.”

Marco beamed and dragged Max back into the house, scolding him under his breath about him ‘running out like that’ and ‘dumb dog’ and Jean followed him with a little more bounce to his step. So far so good.

The indoors of Marco’s house was just as bright and cheerful, just like Jean would have predicted; the kitchen was a sunny yellow, and when Marco finally let go of Max’s collar the dog made a beeline for the back door and the middle sized garden it offered. “I hope you like pasta bake,” Marco said as he opened the oven a crack to check on it. “It’s all I can afford right now. Max is probably eating better than me.”

Jean laughed and plunged his hands in his pockets, a strange sense of comfort washing over him. This wasn’t like at work. He didn’t have to keep watching his back. This was safe and private, and there wasn’t anyone sat in the shadows to catch him out.

Marco had a small wooden table in the centre of his kitchen that had a pair of plates set, and he couldn’t help but feel it looked a little like a date. The flush that rose up Jean’s neck at that thought was thankfully hidden from view by his hoodie. _Thank god_. “Er, w-were you expecting company?” he asked. _Different company._

Marco blinked at the table, then glanced back at Jean. “I was expecting you?” he said, questioning.

Jean grinned weakly. “Am I Mr. Bond?” he joked.

Marco couldn’t have looked more confused. “What?”

Jean wanted to shove a sock down his throat and let it stay there. “F-forget it,” Jean mumbled, the uncomfortable ripple down his spine all too familiar, “I t-try to be funny sometimes. It fails.”

The noise Marco made at that couldn’t have been considered a laugh. It couldn’t even be a chuckle; it was too light for that, too soft. Jean realised with a blush that Marco was fucking _giggling_ at him.

_Oh god. Ohhh giddy god. Please keep giggling for eternity you’re so cute holy SHIT._

 Eventually, Jean found himself laughing too.

“Sorry, I just…” Marco wiped the corner of his eye. “You’re kind of adorable, Jean.”

That stopped his laughter. In fact, it stopped him from talking full stop. As Marco patiently waited for the blue screen of death to vanish from Jean’s face, he suggested putting on a movie whilst the food finished cooking. “Disney?” he asked with a teasing grin. Jean could only nod dumbly in response.

_He called me adorable. He called me ADORABLE. He called me FUCKING adorable!_

The rest of the night seemed to go off without any further bouts of complete awkwardness (there were still moments, but none as mortifying as the first). The food was good. Marco was even better. There was one thing Jean remembered, though. They were only a few minutes into _Lilo and Stitch_ , Marco having sung along to He Mele No Lilo (his voice was on _point_ too: was there nothing this man couldn’t do?) when Jean recognised a line.

“ _She likes your butt and fancy hair.”_

Oh, Reiner Braun was a fucking liar.


End file.
